


too many lies

by Psithurisma



Category: VIXX
Genre: Angst, Futuristic, M/M, Underground/Illegal Fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psithurisma/pseuds/Psithurisma
Summary: “I hate seeing you like this, you know that right?” Hongbin sat up, forcing Taekwoon to. It hurt, a little, to sit up so suddenly like that. Pain made his face pinch, and Hongbin noticed it. “We have this conversation every time you come home, whether you win or lose, and I’m—Taekwoon, I’m at my wits end.”





	too many lies

The loud jeers, the heavy thudding of his heart in his chest. Taekwoon swerved, narrowly missing a punch to his head. He took the new opening to knee the man right in the stomach, grabbing the man’s back and pulling him down into the hit. His opponent stumbled due to the force, his teeth lined with red from a swift hit Taekwoon had delivered earlier. Taekwoon was quick to step back, guard his head with his fist. He braced himself when the man raised his leg to kick him in the side. He parried it with his own leg, though was quickly hit across the head by another punch.  
  
The crowd’s screams became garbled when Taekwoon recovered from the hit, especially when the man took his reaction as an opportunity to hit him again. The second punch was like cold water, shooting pain up through his veins and waking him up.  
  
He sent an undercut up under the man’s chin, the sheer force had his opponent reeling back. Taekwoon kicked him to the ground, high on the adrenaline he loved. It only made him feel more alive when he heard hollers to finish him, destroy him, take him out of the competition. Taekwoon was smiling when he straddled the man’s struggling frame, beating his fists into the man’s head. Now his nose, his cheek, and his lip were bleeding, and the man yelled and gasped for mercy.  
  
It was Taekwoon’s favourite part. The adrenaline was at its highest when the opponent begged for Taekwoon to stop. To save their life.  
  
He felt hands pull at his shoulders, hoisting him up. The cheers, the pounding of tables, the sound of coins and the announcer in the overhead had his mind swimming in ecstasy. The referee lifted Taekwoon’s hand up, officially declaring him the winner. Taekwoon had continued his winning streak, and he could already see the money being distributed.  
  
He had staggered off the stage. The pain did nothing to the grin on his face as he walked towards the co-ordinator. The crowd clapped his bare back as he walked through to collect his earnings. He felt like a King. It was the only way to describe it.  
  
“That was quite a fight,” the co-ordinator at the table, Hakyeon, snickered. He was in his usual suit, his shirt always a gaudy pattern. He screamed wealth, and was counting out money as he spoke. “Almost thought you wouldn’t make it after that one hit.”  
  
Taekwoon’s bloodied knuckles reached for the pile of money, though Hakyeon slapped his hand away. He tsked, “that pile isn’t for you.”  
  
He turned, and took out a sack from behind him. It was unassuming and tied at the top. Taekwoon took it eagerly in a motion that Hakyeon rolled his eyes at. He opened the sack, and saw the layers upon layers of cash bundled in it. “It’s a lot.”  
  
“You’re on a winning streak,” Hakyeon pointed out. He was taking something out as he was talking. “People feel confident to put bets on you.”  
  
Taekwoon smirked, and put the sack into his old backpack, zipping it up.

Then, he pulled out a packet of tissues. “For your nose.”  
  
Taekwoon thanked him, pressing one of the tissues against his face. He was getting pulled then, by betters, perhaps _investors_ for a round of drinks to celebrate their new winnings. He was lead to the tables, his heart still thumping into his chest, high from his success. A man who had grabbed him around the shoulders prodded a thick finger to his chest. “Listen here Jung, you keep winning fights, I reckon it’ll be worth telling my friend who works in the bigger rings to have you fight for them. Jackpot’s huge, you’ll be swimming.”  
  
Taekwoon looked up, obviously interested. He was seated onto one of the stools of the round tables, the old man next to him. He reeked of beer and cigarettes.    
  
“Whatdya want? It’s on me.”  
  
Taekwoon gave a small smile. He leant over to be heard over the loud speaker announcing the next fighters. “I’ll have a—“  
  
Then, just as everyone had begun to tune in to the announcer, they stopped. There was an obvious disturbance among the crowd, and soon, everyone began to scramble. The sound of fists grabbing money, glasses breaking, alarmed shouts. An employee of the ring approached the two of them, breaths laboured. “We’re very sorry, but someone has alerted the police of the fighting here. They’re on their way over.”  
  
Taekwoon immediately stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He looked towards the man that had been suggesting new opportunities for him. He was prodded in the chest again, “next fight, we’ll talk. You win and we’ll talk about what the future holds for you.”  
  
Taekwoon nodded, and they parted ways. Everyone was desperate to get out before the police got there. Street and underground fighting was _more_ than illegal, and men risked the well-being of their lives to _bet_ , let alone to participate. Taekwoon had started out as a street fighter, just to escape from the mundane expectations of such a world, but quickly got good enough to become a contender in underground rings.  
  
As Taekwoon left the building and quickly took one of the side-streets, he shivered in the bitter air. He was still shirtless, and waited until he reached his motorbike – something he had bought with one of his past earnings – to take out his leather jacket from his backpack. His grabbed his keys and then his helmet from the back of the bike. He slipped on his backpack once more before he put on his helmet, fastening it under his chin. As he turned the motorbike on, it purred, and the the perfect edges of the bike glowed purple. It was like it was from one of the old TRON movies. They were increasingly popular now, to whoever could afford them.  
  
On his way home, he sped past the blue and red lights making their way to the gym. The city was bright, neon holograms above casinos, robotic ushers doing their best to invite customers into late-night restaurants. The dingy but bright lights of corner convenience stores people smoked outside of.  
  
His apartment block was just as begrimed as it always was, but with the weight of cash on his back and the promises of more in his mind, he couldn’t notice. Perhaps they could move out, find a better place. One where the walls weren’t so thin, the heater actually warmed more than half the living room. He fished out the tissues from his pocket, making sure his nose was properly wiped before he entered.

  
It was warm inside, and he sighed loudly when he slipped the backpack off, letting it collapse on the coffee table. He moved to the kitchen, putting his keys on the counter top. He finally called out. “Hongbin?”  
  
“In here.”  
  
Taekwoon sniffled, rubbing his nose. The pain was definitely coming back now, especially since the adrenaline was gone. He had a dull headache, and he knew he’d likely have some form of black eye in the morning. Maybe a bruise up his ribcage. He followed Hongbin’s voice that came from their shared bedroom, and found Hongbin curled up in bed with his holographic kindle. Taekwoon had bought it for his birthday, and insisted he bought it with the money that came from his day job. It was a lie that Hongbin didn’t need to know about.   
  
Hongbin looked warm; the standing heater they’d bought for the bedroom was glowing red and humming softly. He didn’t look up, and Taekwoon knew he wouldn’t. It was fine, for Taekwoon simply climbed onto the bed and laid over his lap, his head on the side of Hongbin’s hip. Hongbin wasn’t talkative when he was simmering with anger. Taekwoon knew why so he didn’t ask.  
  
“What’re you reading?” Taekwoon asked innocently.  
  
“The Tale of Two Cities,” Hongbin replied blandly, swiping for the page.  
  
“I don’t know that one,” Taekwoon said softly. He rarely knew any of the books Hongbin read; he had never been the brains of the relationship.  
  
“Charles Dickens.” Hongbin added.  
  
“Is that the guy who wrote about the whale?”  
  
Hongbin sighed, though the sound was fond. It made Taekwoon’s heart skip. “No, that was Herman Melville.”  
  
“Oh,” but Taekwoon smiled, especially so when Hongbin begrudgingly ran a hand through his hair. He hoped there wasn’t dried blood in it, because that would mean Hongbin would pull away, and Taekwoon hated it when he pulled away.  
  
“You look awful, but you’re smiling,” Hongbin didn’t look happy about either. Taekwoon looked up to see Hongbin’s mouth twist unpleasantly as he turned the page. He was obviously doing his best to remain nonchalant. “So I’m guessing you won.”  
  
“Mm,” Taekwoon confirmed. He tilted his face down, kissing Hongbin’s hip. Hongbin looked at him then, and slowly lowered the hologram. Their eye contact was intense for a moment, Hongbin’s expression was unreadable. Taekwoon didn’t like it, when Hongbin was happy he could be read so easily. It was why the relationship sparked so smoothly, but now, it was…  
  
“I hate seeing you like this, you know that right?” Hongbin sat up, forcing Taekwoon to. It hurt, a little, to sit up so suddenly like that. Pain made his face pinch, and Hongbin noticed it. “We have this conversation every time you come home, whether you win or lose, and I’m—Taekwoon, I’m at my wits end.”  
  
Taekwoon swallowed, watching Hongbin blankly as he lifted himself from the bed, sliding his slippers on. His head turned as Hongbin moved, likely to the kitchen. Taekwoon blindly followed him. The adrenaline was definitely gone now, and was replaced with the ache in his chest that was usually there when he was with Hongbin.  
  
Hongbin put the jug on, an old, rattly thing that Taekwoon had the money to replace. Though he couldn’t. Hongbin refused to use anything that was bought with Taekwoon’s money, refused to ride Taekwoon’s bike with him, as much as Taekwoon yearned for him to.  
  
The silence was tense, when Hongbin took out a mug. He looked up at Taekwoon briefly, who only nodded, and soon there were two mugs on the counter. Then Hongbin left the kitchen as the water boiled. Taekwoon heard the tap run in the bathroom and he hoisted himself up to sit on the counter top. And then Hongbin was back with a wet face towel. It was simply the way it usually went. His successes and failures were never celebrated, when he returned from a fight. It was likely the reason why Taekwoon usually came home so late, drunk and happy, after shouting everyone drinks at the ring. No one cared at home.  
  
“You came home early,” Hongbin began quietly, his face still tense. Taekwoon didn’t like it. He wished to kiss the creases away, to caress his face. Hongbin wiped Taekwoon’s face with the cloth with loving gentleness he knew Hongbin thought he didn’t deserve.  
  
Taekwoon knew Hongbin wouldn’t like the answer, but he softly told him the truth anyway. “The cops were called. I left before they came.”  
  
Hongbin lowered the towel, his pretty brown eyes wide. “What?” He croaked.  
  
Taekwoon gave a one shoulder shrug. “They were told that there was a fight, and it was announced to the crowd, so we all left.”  
  
Hongbin took a step back, his eyes cast downwards between them. The jug had begun to boil, and it only rose the tension in the air. Hongbin’s hands were trembling around the towel, his face creased again.  
  
“And you’re—you’re going to go back? After the police were called?” Hongbin’s eyes were wide with fury now.   
  
Taekwoon averted his eyes, though it was enough for Hongbin to throw the towel into his chest. He shoved his hands against his face, hissing a groan. He ran his hands through his hair, his soft, curly hair, but his eyes spoke of incredulous fury. “I can’t believe you. You’d rather risk everything – _everything, us_ , what we’ve worked for, for _fighting_ in a dumb cage?”  
  
Taekwoon swallowed, and looked back at Hongbin. “After my fight—a man approached me, and promised that he could get me in a bigger ring, a better ring, just as long as I win the next fight—“  
  
Hongbin’s face was red. He yelled now, and Taekwoon flinched. “You think _he’d_ fucking bail you out if you got caught? Is he the one that has to wait for you to come home every other night, _if_ you come home? Since you like fighting more than you like me?”   
  
“It gives us a chance of a better life,” Taekwoon replied quietly. Though he felt like he had used the same reasons hundreds of times before now. It had never worked then, either. Taekwoon was fumbling over his words. He’d never been good at them. “I don’t want to live in a life like this—so, mundane and controlled so—“  
  
Hongbin blinked, and reared back. “I’m sorry? Life with me is too _mundane?”_  
  
Taekwoon swallowed, “you know I didn’t mean it like that—“  
  
Hongbin’s jaw clenched. He was obviously gearing up to yell again, so Taekwoon grabbed his wrist. Hongbin struggled as Taekwoon slipped off the counter. Hongbin was so frail, _much_ too frail, and couldn’t fight his grip when Taekwoon lead him over to the living room.  
  
He let him go, and Hongbin stood there as Taekwoon unzipped his backpack, revealed the sack. He unravelled it, tipping it upside down as piles upon piles of money crashed onto the coffee table, some falling off the sides. Hongbin glared at the pile when Taekwoon gestured it.  
  
“This – we could afford a three month holiday to—to wherever you want, with this money. I’m fighting for the both of us, Hongbin. So we can escape—from this— life.” Taekwoon made a broad, frustrated gesture at the house.  
  
“I am fine with this life, and I don’t want your dirty money. No matter how much you win, I’d rather live with – a broken kettle – a shitty heater, I don’t care, Taekwoon. We both know it’s not for us. It’s just for your fucking—adrenaline addiction.”  
  
They both stared at each other. Hongbin’s eyes were full of unshed tears, his bottom lip trembling. He looked down at the money, and then away. Taekwoon wanted to just… hold him, forget about everything. They used to be so happy. Hongbin would smile at him, laugh with him, ask for kisses. What hurt the most was that Taekwoon loved Hongbin just as much as he had then, if not more.  
  
They stood in silence for a time that felt unbearable. “If you—go to that fight,” Hongbin began, much quieter but no less shaky. “Or any more fights… you don’t have a future with me anymore.”  
  
Taekwoon stilled. They’d been together for so long, they had been all the other knew for so long. Hongbin couldn’t possibly mean this. He had said similar things before. Taekwoon swallowed. “You don’t mean that.”  
  
Hongbin didn’t say anything to that. “Sleep on the couch tonight,” he mumbled as he turned away. “See if your money gives you as much comfort as I do.”  


 

 

Taekwoon woke up on the couch, and a text from Hakyeon. He groaned when he rolled over, already knowing he needed an aspirin for his aches. Hakyeon told him where the next venue was. It couldn’t be in the gym from last night in case the police came back to double-check, since last night they didn’t find anyone.  
  
He quickly sent a text back, affirming that he’ll be there, and lowered his phone. He looked at the pile of money on the coffee table. It had given him little warmth and comfort throughout the night, as Hongbin had predicted. Though with that money he could likely buy ten heaters from them both, warming them from every angle. He smiled a little at the thought.  
  
He sat up, and went to rub the sleep from his eye, but grimaced immediately. His eye ached, and when he shuffled to the bathroom, he found his face swollen, purple blossoming around his right eye. He sighed and gingerly washed his face.  
  
The kitchen still had the two mugs on the counter from last night, forgotten from last night’s argument. They looked sad, and it left an empty feeling in Taekwoon’s chest.  
  
He decided to have the jug boil again, waiting patiently in front of it as it rattled. His fingers were twitching with anticipation for the idea of a new ring, more money. He felt like he had come so far from finding satisfaction pummelling a robber into the dirt at night, and then fighting off his friends when they came for him the next day. He’d found an adrenaline that he had never experienced before, and it only escalated as his wish for another hit became stronger.  
  
When the water boiled, and the tea made, he took the mug and quietly entered the bedroom. Hongbin was half asleep in a foetal position, and Taekwoon wondered if he’d been missed, too. He held back a sigh when he thought it must be the case, it wasn’t like Hongbin _liked_ banishing him to the couch.  
  
“Bin,” his soft voice announced. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Hongbin properly stir at the sound of his voice. He watched as Hongbin looked up from the pillow, squinting at him. Taekwoon showed him the mug, gesturing that he should take it. Hongbin eventually sat up and accepted the tea, taking a small sip. They were silent, for a few moments, as Hongbin drank. It looked as if Hongbin had been up for a while, perhaps wanting to avoid the morning, to avoid Taekwoon.  
  
“When’s the next fight?” Hongbin eventually asked.  
  
“In a few days,” he responded quietly.  
  
“Is it in the same place?” Hongbin kept his eyes resolutely between them. His eyes hard.  
  
“No, it was moved downtown, to avoid suspicion.”  
  
Hongbin hummed, taking another sip. It almost annoyed Hongbin that the tea was his favourite. He knew Taekwoon loved him dearly, and that’s what made it so hard.  
  
“Are you going?”  
  
“I haven’t texted back yet,” Taekwoon lied.  
  
Hongbin looked at him, though when Taekwoon gave nothing away, he looked back at his tea. There was a small silence, that was broken by a, “thanks for the tea.”  
  
Taekwoon lifted his hand, slowly running his fingers through Hongbin’s curly hair. He knew he would need to put band aids over the cuts, and made a mental note of it later. “I love you,” Taekwoon confessed softly. Hongbin’s eyes softened for a moment, but not in the happy way they used to. It was only sad.  
  
“I love you too.” Hongbin sighed, lowering his mug to the coffee table. He moved forward, pressing his face into Taekwoon’s cold neck. Taekwoon shivered when they embraced; Hongbin’s front was so much warmer than his own. Taekwoon kissed the top of his head, and tried to ignore the aches that came from Hongbin’s arms against his sides.  


 

 

On the balcony, Taekwoon heard the grating shriek of the door slide open, and he turned his head. Hongbin had a blanket over his shoulders, two mugs of tea in his hands. Taekwoon accepted it gratefully, more excited for something to warm his hands. Hongbin settled beside him on the two-person seat they had bought for evenings like this. When it was just the two of them, tea, cigarettes, and the starless sky.  
  
Hongbin settled against him, humming in content under his breath. “You haven’t taken me to a bar for a while,” he said quietly, looking up at him from his shoulder.  
  
Taekwoon looked down, his hand smoothing over Hongbin’s naked thigh. He was only wearing shorts under the blanket. “A bar? Like the jazz one downtown?”  
  
“Mm,” Hongbin hummed, and his smile was so beautiful. Taekwoon felt lost looking at it. Taekwoon put his mug to the side, to turn to him fully, watching how Hongbin’s pretty eyes widened.  
  
They kissed, their mouths warm from the tea. Taekwoon cupped Hongbin’s face with a hand, his knuckles covered in bandaids. Hongbin broke away smiling, gazing into his eyes. Raising his hand, Hongbin caressed the bruises on Taekwoon’s eye. Taekwoon fought not to flinch.  
  
“It looks better,” Hongbin murmured. “Did the ice work today?”  
  
Taekwoon smiled, telling him yes as he pressed a kiss to his dimple. Hongbin laughed breathlessly, they were so in love.  
  
“Hopefully it’s your last black eye,” Hongbin murmured when they broke away. Taekwoon turned to take his tea, and Hongbin didn’t see how Taekwoon’s face fell. “I won’t have to buy ice anymore, now that you’ve quit. And… we can spend our days at the bar, listening to the music, and you can…” Hongbin took Taekwoon’s free hand and coerced it back on his thigh. “Squeeze my thigh, like you used to.”  
  
Taekwoon looked into Hongbin’s eyes, and saw the hope in his eyes. Taekwoon didn’t want to lie to him, but he didn’t know what else to do. He turned and sipped his tea, not saying anything. Taekwoon missed how Hongbin’s face fell. 

 

 

 Taekwoon didn’t have much trouble finding the new venue. It was another gym with a basement, though this one was much more downtown, more discreet. He locked his helmet back into the compartment in his bike. With his leather jacket and backpack, he entered the venue, the music already thumping. His presence was immediately noticed and celebrated, and Taekwoon had to smile when he was pulled into the crowd, men and women in his face, saying he better win.  
  
Taekwoon nodded, the excitement like electricity in his veins when he noticed the old man from the previous fight by the bar. He slid through the audience towards the man, who noticed him with a grin. He had a few discoloured teeth, and one looked like it were gold. His suit was almost as gaudy as Hakyeon’s. He came from wealth, and it only made Taekwoon more excited. It was obvious his face looked expectant, for the man spoke.  
  
“Tonight’s the night,” he grinned, “I brought a couple of friends with me to watch you. I have high hopes for you, kid.”  
  
Taekwoon smiled, “I’ll do my best, sir.”  
  
The man grabbed his shoulder, shaking it. “Good boy, now, get up there, your turn is soon.”  
  
  
  
  
The lights were on, glary yet familiar. His shirt was off, knuckles bandaged. He’d bought new sneakers with his new money, and had been double-knotted with twitchy anticipation. He supposed he should be nervous, but this many wins in a row, he was excited above everything. Perhaps that’s what made him win. He was happy to do this, it made him feel _ecstasy_ when the majority of his life felt so bland. He was shifting from foot to foot, and he heard the crowd shake the cage around him, telling him to win. He flashed a smile behind him, a little thumbs up, revelling in how his betters screeched at his confidence. He saw the old man grin at him from across the lights.  
  
He stretched his neck as he saw the crowd shift for the contender. He didn’t hear a name, perhaps he’d simply ignored it as he usually did. Names didn’t matter. The fight did. When the man came into light, he stilled. A frail frame, bare feet. His curly hair was pulled back in a little ponytail. Taekwoon dropped his fists, and the crowds immediately jeered.  
  
Hongbin, looking so alien under the fighting lights, stared back at him with a defiance that Taekwoon had never known. Taekwoon was still, as it was announced that Hongbin was his opponent. He swallowed, and then he frowned in confusion. Hongbin _knew_ what this fight meant to him. “What are you doing?” He murmured.  
  
“Making you decide.” Hongbin lifted up his fists, and god, he obviously didn’t know what he was doing. His posture was bent wrong, his body was so frail. He didn’t have any muscles, there was no way he’d land any hits, let alone take any. The crowd obviously thought so too, for they were screaming at Taekwoon to take him out in one hit. As the referee came between them, Taekwoon was still staring, guard down, his closed fists twitching in anger. What was Hongbin _doing_. If he lost this fight, he’d be outcasted from the community, let alone be stripped of his chance.  
  
When the referee started the fight, Taekwoon still hadn’t raised his guard, and his eyes flickered towards the old man that was now staring, smile gone. In the corner of his eye, he saw Hongbin move, swinging an amateur punch that Taekwoon easily dodged.  
  
The crowd screamed to just hit him.  
  
“I’m not fighting you,” he growled, pushing him back with a shoulder. Hongbin attempted to swing another punch, but Taekwoon caught it. Hongbin struggled in his hold, his eyes angry, yet so hurt.  
  
“You’re either _losing_ this fight or you’re hitting me.” Hongbin replied under his voice, wrenching his hand away. Taekwoon had none of it, and pushing him away. No, there had to be another way. He had to win, but without having to punch Hongbin. There was no way he could. Not only because Hongbin was so frail, but God, because he loved him. There was just no way. Hongbin’s eyes only showed determination, and Taekwoon knew that he’d have to break it. Make him leave.  
  
“Get out of the ring, Hongbin!” Taekwoon was yelling now, pushing at his shoulders. Hongbin felt so pliant, but really it was simply he was no match for Taekwoon’s strength, didn’t know how to keep himself stable. “This place isn’t for you, it’s for—“  
  
Hongbin swung again. Taekwoon easily dodged, and the audience didn’t understand what was going on. They didn’t appreciate Taekwoon’s apparent chivalry, they just wanted to see Hongbin on the ground. He needed to get Hongbin to surrender. If it meant making Hongbin so upset he’d walk out, then fine. As long as he was safe. Taekwoon shoved him again. “Go back to your books, go back to the mundane life you so _crave_ , you don’t belong here.”  
  
Hongbin’s eyes watered, and he only tried to kick him away. Taekwoon grabbed his ankle, and flung it away. Hongbin stumbled onto his feet.  
  
“Fuck _off_ , Hongbin,” he growled, shoving him back again. It hurt saying this, it hurt seeing him like this, but there was no way he’d ever hit him. “No one wants you here.”  
  
Hongbin was against the cage now, panting, face red. His eyes were wet, and his lips pulled into a grimace that Taekwoon hated. Hongbin hung his head. His face crumpled when he walked off, opening the gate and through the crowd. He watched Hongbin’s slim back get pushed and pulled through the audience, and finally escaped out the back door.  
  
An awful feeling dwelled in his heart, but they would get over it. They always did. He sighed, standing with the referee as the next fighter was brought up. Taekwoon tried to shake himself, and soon, found himself raising his fists again.

 

 

Taekwoon stumbled up the stairs, his backpack heavier than it had ever been. His face was also more swollen than it had ever been. He’d won three fights – not including Hongbin’s – since the adrenaline rush had been so good he kept requesting more. Plus, it was good to show off for his investors. It had worked, since he now had a new number in his phone, and a new time and place. He also had a lot of alcohol, which was why he was currently having trouble opening the apartment door.  
  
“Hongbin?” He slurred, slumping his backpack beside the door. It felt good to take the weight off his back. There was no response, and Taekwoon wiped his bloody nose, looking blearily around. He’d probably sleep on the couch again tonight. He might become intimate with it soon. It was fine, since soon, him and Hongbin were going to move to a richer suburb, a nicer apartment, eat nothing but lobster for three weeks.  
  
He waddled down to the bedroom, “Hongbin, you know I didn’t _mean_ it,” he whined, rounding the entrance. “It was just because I didn’t wanna hit…”  
  
He looked at the bed, and froze. It was empty. Some of the drawers were open too. Empty. He spun around, but the movement had him clinging to the door-frame, his drunkenness dizzying. “ ‘Ongbin?”  
  
He opened the bathroom door, ventured into the kitchen. Where had he gone? Taekwoon squinted, his headache pounding. There on the counter was a note. He grabbed it, leaning against the counter to bring it close to his face.  
  
**_No one wants you here, either._**  
  
Taekwoon had to squint to figure out what that meant. It was definitely in Hongbin’s writing though. So it sounded like he was really mad. He must be, to not be home. He was always home. He’d never _not_ be home.  
  
Which was, now that Taekwoon’s drunken mind was willing to catch up, very worrying. He leant against the counter, wishing to steady himself. Where had he gone? He had to see him, had to talk to him. Tell him he loved him. This was awful. Taekwoon sank to his knees, whispering small _no’s_ over and over. A panic ran through him. _Had Hongbin left him? Was that his final straw? Did he not want him anymore?_ He sniffled and fell on his bum, sitting in the middle of the kitchen. He loved Hongbin, he just loved fighting too. He didn’t want Hongbin to go. Where was he? He had to find him.  
  
He took out his phone, squinting at the bright screen. He quickly sent multiple messages, not noticing the obvious spelling errors.  
  
**Wher are you?  
**

**Hongbin??  
  
Whered u go?  
  
I miss you  
** **  
Hongbin???**

It wasn’t much longer until Taekwoon’s phone vibrated, and he scrambled to open up the message.  
  
**I’m at Wonshik’s. I’m coming home tomorrow and packing up my things.  
**  
Taekwoon’s hands shook. He grimaced, standing up. No, no, Hongbin couldn’t go. Taekwoon grabbed his keys, opening up the door and stumbling back down the stairs. His tears blurred his vision as he took out his helmet again, swinging a leg over his bike.  
  
  
  
  
He stood in front of Wonshik’s door, banging on it with his bloodied fist. He yelled Hongbin’s name, and rattled at the doorknob. “Hongbin, I’m sorry, I wanna talk, please, I just want to _talk!”  
  
_ After a moment, the door swung open, and Taekwoon’s drunken frame swayed forward. It wasn’t Hongbin in front of him, but Wonshik, who had already lifted a hand to steady Taekwoon.  
  
“Jesus, you look fucking awful, how did you get here?” Taekwoon only whined at that. Wonshik peered over Taekwoon’s shoulder. “Did you ride your _bike?_ Taekwoon, that’s fucking dangerous. You could have killed someone.”  
  
“Where’s Hongbin?” Taekwoon growled, though Wonshik pushed him further out. Taekwoon was obviously displeased by that.  
  
“He doesn’t want to see you right now, Taekwoon.” Wonshik said sternly. He stared straight into Taekwoon’s eyes.  
  
With a child-like petulance, he swatted Wonshik’s hand away. “I want to see him.”  
  
“Well that’s—that’s really too bad, Taekwoon. You really hurt him tonight.”  
  
Taekwoon made to move past, though Wonshik blocked the way. Taekwoon took a step back, and then pushed Wonshik aside, forcing himself into the house. He was clambering up the steps when Wonshik was calling out.  
  
“He pushed past me, Hongbin! He’s going up the stairs!”  
  
Taekwoon bee-lined to the spare room. He’d gone to Wonshik’s house many times before, and was already swinging the door open.  
  
Hongbin was standing. He was in a sweater, his hair still in that ponytail, his feet bare. He looked so small, so lovely, but mostly, he looked like the man Taekwoon loved. Taekwoon faltered at Hongbin’s presence, raising his shaky hands to touch him. To his heartache, Hongbin moved away. His eyes were upset, more sadness than anger.  
  
“Hongbin, Hongbin, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, please don’t leave—I don’t—I can’t live without…”  
  
“Go home, Taekwoon,” Hongbin’s voice was stern and shaky. Taekwoon swallowed, trying to touch him. He cupped Hongbin’s face, though Hongbin took his wrists and pulled them down. “You’re drunk. I hate it when you’re drunk.”  
  
Taekwoon grimaced, tears falling onto his cheeks. His hands trembled. “I love you, Hongbin,” he whined softly. He lowered himself onto Hongbin and started sobbing helplessly into Hongbin’s shoulder.  
  
There was a pause. Hongbin willed himself to breathe and his face pinched. He sighed and reluctantly patted Taekwoon’s back. “Go home, Taekwoon.”  
  
Taekwoon felt another hand at his back. Wonshik was pulling him away, and Taekwoon struggled, a high-pitched whimper escaping him. He didn’t want this to be the end. He looked at Hongbin brokenly when the door was shut in his face. “C’mon, Taekwoon, I just ordered you a hover cab.”  
  
  


  
Taekwoon sat on Wonshik’s steps, feeling ill. He heard a whirring, and he looked back to see a little helper robot carrying a bucket, wheeling its way out to him. He accepted it with a small thank you, smiling a little by the way it bowed and went back into the house.  
  
He cradled the bucket on his lap, looking down into the bottom. He felt decidedly soberer now, but with it came the nausea. He shuddered and leant over, and once he had done throwing up his alcohol he felt someone sit down beside to him.  
  
He looked up, though his hopeful face faded when he realised it was Wonshik. He sighed, and looked back at his bucket glumly. “I fucked up.”  
  
“You did,” Wonshik sighed, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.  
  
“I don’t deserve him,” he added.  
  
“You don’t.” Wonshik replied simply, looking over at him. Taekwoon met his gaze, unimpressed.  
  
“You’re not making me feel any better.”  
  
“I don’t think you deserve to feel better, honestly.” Wonshik frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re fucking awful, Taekwoon.”  
  
Taekwoon’s jaw clenched. It was weird to hear it from a friend, rather than Hongbin. It definitely made him worse. Not that he’d had doubts that what he’d done was wrong, and not that he didn’t believe Hongbin, but hearing it from someone else was… definitely a slap into reality.  
  
“You better apologize like your life depends on it.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You better not just apologize, either.”  
  
Taekwoon’s voice broke. He wanted to cry again. “I _know.”_  
  
Taekwoon _did_ end up crying again when the cab finally rolled up. He slumped in, threatened not to vomit in the car, and was taken home.  
  


  
Taekwoon was startled awake on the couch by the door unlocking. He had slept on the couch again. He had decided in his intoxicated state that he simply did not deserve to sleep on the bed. His head swam both from his hangover and his post-fight headache, so he had to brace himself on the arm of the chair when he looked up.  
  
“Hongbin?” His voice broke, croaky from all the tears he’d fallen asleep with last night. It was really Hongbin, who was closing the door behind him. He scrambled to sit up, mouth opening though Hongbin hushed him gently. He stilled, watching as Hongbin turned wordlessly and walked into the kitchen.  
  
“I—“ Taekwoon swallowed. He whimpered out a desperate, “Hongbin, I’m sorry—I’ll—I’ll—“  
  
Hongbin returned with a glass of water and an aspirin, and Taekwoon’s heart broke. Hands shaky, he took the aspirin first before downing it with water. Hongbin settled against him on the couch, keeping space between them that Taekwoon hated. After a moment, Hongbin asked, “you’ll what?”  
  
Taekwoon swallowed, looking up. He was twitchy, his hands fumbling around the sleeves of his sweater. “I’ll do anything,” he croaked.    
  
“The only way this relationship can ever work, Taekwoon,” Hongbin began, his voice much more steady than last night. “Is if you give up fighting. For good. Otherwise, I will pack my things.”  
  
Taekwoon’s face crumpled. It wasn’t a choice anymore. “I’ll stop fighting,” he breathed, _promised._ “I’ll stop, I’ll—block all the numbers I won’t—show up anymore I –“ He knew he was blubbering, but he couldn’t stop. His voice hitched as he whined, the sobs shaking his body. “Don’t leave me, Hongbin, please.”

Taekwoon raised his bloodied hands to cover his face, his frame trembling. He looked so small, for how muscular, how tall he was.  
  
“Do you promise me? Never again?”  
  
Taekwoon dropped his hands, looking lost. Hongbin’s gaze was stern. This was really it. Hongbin would really… go for good, if Taekwoon was lying. Fighting had been such a huge part of his life, and he wouldn’t feel the adrenaline, the life in him, anymore… but if that meant losing Hongbin… Taekwoon looked down between them, his eyes closing as he whispered, “I promise.”  
  
Hongbin leant in, kissing his eyelids. The movement was so gentle, so considerate of his bruises that Taekwoon’s face crumpled again. He slouched forward, and allowed himself to be cradled in Hongbin’s arms, in his warmth. Hongbin hushed him gently as Taekwoon wept, mourning what would be the end of his other love.  


  
  
  
  
The bar’s music had Taekwoon’s fingers tapping against Hongbin’s thigh to the beat, in the way he knew Hongbin loved. Hongbin looked so pretty tonight, delicate curls and dimple smiles. He wore a simple silk shirt, dark red in colour. Taekwoon wore a blue. His hair had been clipped much shorter, wishing to appeal Hongbin, and his bleak office job.  
  
Hongbin looked up at his Taekwoon's clear, bruise-less face. Their skin was tinted in the pretty blue-pink lights, his hand was on Taekwoon’s chest. “You look so good tonight,” he whispered under his breath. Taekwoon looked over, providing a little smile.  
  
“I could say the same to you.”  
  
Hongbin grinned, leaning over. His teeth lightly tugged on the earring pierced in Taekwoon’s ear. “Your new earring looks good,” he noted for the fifth time tonight. He trailed circles into Taekwoon’s chest, a subtle suggestion for later tonight when they got home. Taekwoon squeezed Hongbin’s thigh. “I told you, working hard at the office has its perks. Maybe we could move out soon, what with your new promotion. Since the money isn’t dirty and all…”  
  
Taekwoon took a sip of his beer, eyes averting from Hongbin’s loving gaze. He didn’t want to lie, so he didn’t say anything.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


                                  

 

  



End file.
